


I Want a Date with Happiness Too

by overthemoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Parentlock, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overthemoon/pseuds/overthemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Sherlock’s death, John starts dating Mary Morstan. Hamish isn’t too happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want a Date with Happiness Too

**Author's Note:**

> No Beta, no britpick. [Based on this Gifset, some dialogue borrowed straight from gifset.](http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/49100949830)  
> Basically this got published because I don't feel like editing it anymore. I'm not too keen on this oneshot, honestly. Retrobetaing would be awesome.  
> [This Ficlet on Tumblr.](http://overthemoonwriting.tumblr.com/post/52191815539) Please reblog if you liked it. Help promote a small rather unnoticed author. <3

_You look happy, Dad. Or at least not sad, for once._

Hamish sat on his Dad’s bed, observing his dad as Dad shrugged on his black coat (slight dust on the shoulders, no crease lines so probably recently ironed, chemical stain on the sleeve from Father’s experiment now gone). Hamish looked down at the bedspread and traced the printed pattern with his fingers.

“Where are you taking her today?” he asked. On his last date, Dad had taken Mary to Angelo’s after watching a Bond marathon. Hamish hadn’t managed to filch her wallet yet to check her background accuracy, but from what Dad had told him, Mary was a schoolteacher. They had met in a coffeehouse when she’d accidentally spilled something on him.

Dad frowned. “The park,” Dad said. _Regent’s Park._ Hamish stiffened at the realization. _Father told me that’s where you met Mr Stamford. The funny man who helped you meet Father._

Hamish looked up in alarm. “The park? Boring.” He stared at the green wallpaper, counting the number of stains in the new green wallpaper. The park _was_ boring. Father wasn’t there to make snide comments about the parentage of the babies in the prams, or drape his big woolly Belstaff around Hamish’s shoulders when the fall wind came in and rattled the leaves of the trees. He darted a glance back to Dad’s face.

“You should come along.” Dad looked down at Hamish. Hamish dropped his gaze to Dad’s jacket, refusing to meet Dad’s eyes. “You’ll like Mary... she’s nice.” Hamish pursued his lips and wrinkled the duvet, clenching and unclenching it in his hands.

Hamish stuck his tongue out and made a “plllllllbbb” noise. Dad chuckled and smiled, creating a tiny tendril of guilt that squeezed around Hamish’s stomach. Hamish crosses his arms and mutters, “She’s boring then. Nice people are boring. That’s what Father said.”

Dad crossed the room to the bed and sat down. He closed his arms around Hamish, giving him a hug. Hamish sneezed at the faint scent of cologne; Dad flinched back, then hugged Hamish even tighter.

“Yeah, well she’s not Father, is she?” Dad sighed. Hamish nuzzled his Dad’s tie. _Father used to take this one and keep it near his experiments whenever you had to go for conferences. He said it reminded him of your eyes._

“Of course not,” Hamish mumbled. “She’s a girl.” The unspoken _Obviously_ hung heavily in the room’s air.

Dad sighed and petted Hamish’s hair. “I don’t suppose you want to come then?” Dad said. Hamish shook his head, wrapped his arms tightly around Dad. _You smell wrong. You don’t smell like tea and the morgue and Mrs Hudson herbal soothers._ Dad’s body heat warmed Hamish’s heart, temporarily soothing the empty space left by Father’s fall.

“Just don’t take her to Angelo’s,” Hamish muttered. “Please?” He pulled his arms back and pushed at Dad. Dad frowned and let go of Hamish. Hamish pulled his knees to his chest and turned his back to Dad.

Hamish wasn’t blind. Slowly but steadily, Dad was taking Mary on all the places that he used to go with Father. It was only a matter of time before Dad brought her home and insisted that Hamish be nice to her and show her the experiments Hamish sometimes ran and Mary would probably insist that Hamish shouldn’t do those things, should go do normal dull children things that Hamish didn’t want to do.

The mattress creaked as Dad slid closer to Hamish. “Is something wrong?” Dad asked.

“Please don’t take her to Angelos,” Hamish repeated. “That’s our place.” _For all three of us._

Dad sighed. “Hamish-”

 _I can’t stand it when it feels like you don’t love him anymore._ Hamish swung his legs and got off of the bed. “I’ll get my things so I can stay with Mrs Hudson.”

“Hamish-” His Dad’s voice reverberated with guilty concern.

“It’s fine, Dad,” Hamish said. “I’ll eat some nice home cooked food for once, right?” He turned around and hoisted at look-I’m-happy-right? smile on his face. “Besides, maybe she can tell me stories about Father.”

“I know you’re upset,” Dad said. Dad looked at Hamish with his own sad-steel eyes. “But it’s not like Father is going to come back.”

“I’m not stupid,” said Hamish. He looked down at the ground and scuffed his shoes on the floorboards. “I know he’s dead.” Hamish curled and uncurled his hands into fists.

Dad stood up and placed a hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “Look, I can cancel if you’re really that upset about it. You come first, you know that.”

_But what about Father? I thought Father used to come first. And the Work._

“I don’t want to ruin your date,” Hamish said. He looked up at Dad. “You’re happy. I mean, I miss Father a lot but I don’t want to make you sad.” _It’s hard to feel happy when you’re sad all the time, Dad. I miss you too. Even when you’re right in front of me you don’t feel the same. Everything is different._

Dad patted Hamish gently on the shoulder. “I’m not going to have fun if all I’m going to do is worry if you’re okay,” he said. Dad knelt down to Hamish’s eye-level. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

_Don’t replace him please. Don’t replace Father. Don’t replace me too._

“Mrs Hudson is making roast chicken,” Hamish answered. “Everything is better with Mrs Hudson’s cooking.” _I’m sorry for worrying you._

Dad frowned. “I’ll come home an hour earlier,” he promised. “Then we can watch telly or listen to the classical radio or something.”

“Okay.” Hamish tried on a wobbly smile. _None of the musicians are as good as Father, anyway._ “I’ll call if there’s any trouble.”

Dad exhaled and stood up, reluctance written in the slight tremor in his left hand.

“Have fun?” _I don’t mean to make you sad. I really don’t. I want you to be happy._ Hamish dropped his head and avoided Dad’s gaze. “I’ll go get my stuff now. Mrs Hudson is expecting me.” He walked out of the room.

_I just wish I could be happy too._

**Author's Note:**

> All the comments are appreciated, even the keyboardsmashy ones. :) Thank you for reading/kudosing/commenting, it really picks me up and literally changes the mood of my day into a better one.


End file.
